fence . row (n.) an uncultivated strip of land on each side of and below a fence.

The beautiful thing about life is that one simple word can hold so many meanings, and be interpreted in many different ways.

The first time my husband, Dusty, said to me, “let’s walk down to the fencerow,” I immediately envisioned a picturesque stroll through the countryside. Land stretched as far as the eye can see, dirt roads lined with fences, overtaken by wild blackberries and honeysuckle vines, that span for miles. Let’s say I have a vivid imagination. In that moment, my eyes were opened to an entirely new fencerow; one that I knew existed, but had looked past my entire life.

So, have you ever seen a fencerow? The kind lined with cars, scraps, and rust; a graveyard to once cherished treasures.

Growing up in small town Oklahoma, I saw quite a few of these fencerows. Yet, I never saw far beyond the mess. I was eager to know the story, the true meaning of what a fencerow meant to my then dreamy boyfriend.

When I met Dusty, any big city dreams I had, vanished in an instant. A simple life, filled with love, deeply rooted in the Oklahoma soil, was all my heart desired. We have been married for 5 years. He keeps me humble, and for that I am blessed. When I get caught up in ‘wants’ of life, he is there to remind me how incredibly blessed we are to not ‘need.’ Then he buys a 1949 Poppin’ Johnny Tractor…to keep me humble. Bless his heart.

He has an old soul, the strong silent type, and is quite handy. I am a dreamer; he is the doer. When I come up with a crazy off the wall idea, he knows exactly what to do to bring my visions to life.

We live a full life, complete with two rambunctious pups, a temperamental garden, a house full of chickens, and the occasional hog. Our life is far from glamorous, exactly the way we love it; messy, full of grace, and loads of laughter. Being a Carriger has taught me to understand the purpose of a fencerow. It is more than a graveyard for automobiles. It is a way of life, from a much simpler time, when families would go down to the fencerow to gather scraps to sell for cash. Dusty and I have made our fair share of trips to the fencerow; picking stuff up, dropping things off. It has taught me that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.